La Femme on...The Book of Mormon

Hello.  My name is Sister Julie, and I would like to share with you the most amazing thing.  A couple of weeks ago, I felt the most pure joy that I had since my honeymoon.  K and I saw the touring production of The Book of Mormon.  For those of you unaware of this amazing 2011 musical written by Trey Parker and Matt Stone of South Park infamy, and Robert Lopez of Avenue Q (another musical I have been dying to see), I have to warn you: It is not for the faint of heart or the easily offended.  If you turn your nose up at the incredibly dirty but wonderfully sweet South Park then you would hate this musical with a heart of gold underneath its potty mouth.  But for everyone else (and for me especially), The Book of Mormon is a revelation.  I have always been a fan of musical theatre and enjoyed every production I have ever seen, but I have never felt the same joy watching a live cast perform as much as I have, say, watching Gene Kelly leap in Singin' in the Rain.  The magic of theatre could never eclipse the magic of the cinema.  Until now.

The Book of Mormon follows our hero, Elder Price, a young Mormon about to go on his mission.  Elder Price is the kind of guy other people envy (and maybe hate a little):  he is handsome, confident and always gets what he wants.  He also lives in a bubble.  For his mission, he hopes to go to his favorite place in the world: ORLANDO (home of Disney, Seaworld, and putt-putt golfing)!  As the missionaries are placed with their mission companions, Elder Price is paired with the awkward, chubby, and nerdy Elder Cunningham; together, they set off to Uganda (home of...) to begin their mission.  Elder Price knows that he and his mission partner are going to convert many villagers to Mormonism (well, Elder Price knows he will be doing most of the converting as he reveals in the hilarious "You and Me (But Mostly Me)").   They are shocked to find out that the villagers are worried about more pressing issues than finding a new religion, like, I don't know, AIDS, poverty, and a warlord with an unprintable name for this family friendly blog who is planning to genitally mutilate all the women in the village.  Plus, a guy who can't stop proclaiming that he has maggots in his scrotum.  What happens next is both glorious and profane.

The Book of Mormon does everything right when it comes to staging a musical.  The songs are catchy (in fact, I have been listening to the soundtrack for weeks), the harmonies are perfect, the dance numbers are great and the sets are fun.   I think the genius of this play is that, while Parker and Stone are definitely making fun of, well everything (Broadway included), they are also paying tribute to it.  You can see the affection that they have for Broadway musicals in everything from the tribute to the bizarre "Uncle Tom's Cabin" number in the King and I to the delightfully hilarious (and extremely dirty) "Hasa Diga Eebowai", which starts out as a "Hakuna Matata" /  Lion King spoof and goes somewhere entirely different.   But the quality and commitment of the cast and wonderful musicality of the songs keep you completely engaged (and there is something wonderfully subversive about hearing angelic singers singing the f-word (among others)).  The dancing was some of the tightest I have ever seen on stage, and, frankly some of the gayest.  Parker and Stone embrace the flamboyance of a stage musical to great effect.  There are a lot of jazz hands (and sparkly pink vests) in The Book of Mormon, and I couldn't get enough of it.

I couldn't finish this piece without mentioning religion and Mormonism.  Obviously, the entire musical makes fun of Mormonism as a religion and uses that as a basis to make fun of all religions, especially those that try to impose their worldview on others (and end up repressing their own parishioners at the same time).  But instead of being a takedown of Mormonism,  The Book of Mormon tries and succeeds in showing the good things religion does (don't get me wrong, it shows the bad parts too, particularly homophobia and repression in my favorite number of the musical, "Turn it Off").  In fact, Mormons generally come off as charitable, full of hope and really f*#$king nice.  But in the end, the message I took away from The Book of Mormon is if your belief system gives you joy and comfort, whether it be Christianity, Mormonism or Star Wars, what's so wrong with that?  When it comes to religion, I am not sure what I believe in... but I know that I believe in The Book of Mormon.

Julie

David Cronenberg Marathon: Part 1

Scanners (1981): The first three movies we have watched in this marathon have all been classic Cronenberg body horror.  But in a lot of ways, Scanners is about the horror and power of the mind, not the fear of decay and death.  Scanners are people with telepathic and telekinetic powers who are being used by a large corporation, ConSec, for an unknown but possibly nefarious purpose.  Cameron Vale (a serviceable Stephen Lack), a derelict scanner who has been living in a shopping mall and is unable to control or understand his power, is discovered by ConSec after he unwittingly murders a woman who is thinking bad things about him.  Cameron is recruited by ConSec to help them deal with a renegade scanner, Dale Revok, played by a delightfully evil Michael Ironside.  Like most movies dealing with telepathy, Scanners has some silly scenes of people thinking really hard, but some of these scenes have deliciously grotesque payoffs (see, e.g., the exploding head).  I do think that Scanners could have been much more interesting than it actually was - for example, had the film explored the fear of people scanning you, knowing your thoughts, and being able to manipulate your body without your control, Scanners would have been much more stimulating.  As it is, Scanners is a movie with a good concept but only middling execution.  Ironside is creepy and gives me a little Ben Linus-from-Lost realness, but Vale is boring and you almost want him to lose, which is never a good quality in the supposed hero of a film.

Videodrome (1983):  So far, Videodrome has been the weirdest, most disturbing, most Cronenbergian movie we have watched in this Cronenberg marathon.  James Woods is Max Renn, the executive of a cable access channel that plays sleazy television (pornography, violence, etc.).  Simultaneously, he is introduced to Nicki Brand (a gorgeous, ethereal but vulgar Debbie Harry) and an illegal feed of Videodrome, a TV show depicting torture and murder.  Renn can't believe how realistic Videodrome is and can't stop watching; he also can't help but be sucked into Nikki's trap when she seems even more aroused and excited by Videodrome than he is.  As Renn tries to discover the origin of Videodrome and begins to have strange, incredibly bizarre hallucinations,  he becomes entwined with Professor O'Blivion (who will only communicate through video) and his daughter Bianca.  I have seen some weird movies and Videodrome is definitely one of the stranger ones: the hallucinations are both surreal and incredibly vibrant, and Cronenberg deftly toes the line between reality and horror.  Woods is at once villain and hero, victim and victimizer, and, unlike so many movie characters that become increasingly unhinged as strange things happen to them, he reaches a new level of clarity and finds a true purpose in his life in trying to find and eventually defeat Videodrome.  A film about the power of images and the relationship between the viewer and the viewed, Videodrome not only examines the influence of media in the present but foretells the evolution of an individual's relationship to what they watch. Videodrome at once reinforces and subverts the message that you are what you watch: you become what you consume, and it becomes you as well. Unsettling but powerful, Videodrome gets under your skin just like Videodrome does for Max and Nicki.

The Fly (1986): First thought, best thought.  Didn't someone say that?  Well, my first thought re: The Fly is that Jeff Goldblum is an undercover hottie.  The fact that I can say that in a movie where he becomes a hideous monster is a tribute to his surprising charisma as Seth Brundle (aka Brundlefly).  The age old story of a scientist who experiments on himself and becomes his own worst creation, The Fly is funny, creepy, and even a little sexy.  In some ways, The Fly is the most conventenial of all the films we have watched thus far; the story is familiar to any moviegoer who has seen Frankenstein or Jekyll and Hyde.  Goldblum is a genius scientist working on teleportation who meets Geena Davis's Veronica, a journalist, at a museum event.  They have immediate chemistry and she begins to document his experiments.  After a fight, Seth gets the courage to try out his teleportation machine himself, and it works brilliantly. Except, not quite: As the pod closed, a fly snuck into the machine with him!  At first, his symptoms manifest themselves in positive ways: he becomes increasingly confident, stronger, and more virile.  But as the film goes on, he begins to morph into a hideous fly-man (Brundlefly).  Davis is charming as a woman who sees the man she loves slowly and horribly become a monster, and the great chemistry and real spark between her and Goldblum helps make the movie a real, albeit surreal, love story.  This is the epitome of Cronenbergian body horror, as we and the characters watch in horror as Brundle's body decays and morphs into a disgusting shell of his former self.  His humanity begins to crumble and his new, insect nature takes over. By the end, we are as heartbroken as Veronica as what has become of Brundlefly.

Julie

It's Noon Somewhere....The Black C

I will admit that I am a sucker for a good gimmick when it comes to cocktails.  Dry ice, crazy infusions, fun colors and silly names are all things I gravitate towards when perusing cocktail menus.  I think if there is one thing cocktails should be, its fun.  Drinking is something that shouldn't be shameful when done in moderation and should be one of life's simple pleasures. And I don't want to waste my time or calories on bad cocktails! The problem with some gimmick cocktails is that they are terrible. K and I have made our fair share of holiday themed cocktails that while they looked cool, they were terrible.  I remember one Halloween we served what we called a blue moon martini which used Blue Curaco, Vodka and dry ice.  It was gorgeous.  And extremely strong and not very good.  I apologize to our friends we served it to!

K and I were both aspiring mixologists at that time.  Now he is an expert and I am an aspiring one.  The cocktail I am going to discuss today is definitely a bit of a gimmick, but a delicious one.  It uses black vodka, in this case wildberry flavored.  K and I first saw black vodka a few years ago in Harrods in London and it was something he wished he had bought (that started our policy on vacation of "If you want it, buy it" (apparently that doesn't count for Hermes scarves) because otherwise you regret it forever!).  A nice, big liquor store opened in our neighborhood in the last few years and they had black vodka so we knew we had to try it.  K invented this riff on a Cosmopolitan and it is super tasty (it has been compared favorably to Kool-Aid, take that as you will).  The lime is a must and you may even want a bit more because the black vodka is a bit syrupy and you need some acid to cut through that treacly sweetness.  This drink goes down deceptively easily.

The Black C

2 shots wild berry vodka
1 part triple sec
1 part cranberry (or cranberry pomegranate juice)
1/2 lime

Shake all ingredients in a cocktail shaker with lots of ice.  Strain into a chilled martini glass and garnish with a slice of lime.

Enjoy!

Julie

La Femme Recommends...The Lady Eve

I will just come out and say it.  My name is La Femme and I hate chick flicks. As a woman I may be betraying my sisters who love them but I must stand with my fellow cinephiles against the treacly formula.  Every year,  studios release dozens of terrible romantic comedies with the exact same plot, give or take a couple details.  A couple meets cute, falls in love, has some kind of misunderstanding but by the end are reunited with a fantastic kiss. Fade to black. Of course, there have been good romantic comedies in the last thirty years (Sleepless in Seattle, When Harry Met Sally), there have been good cult romantic comedies (Love and Sex(!), Going the Distance), and there have been romantic comedies that are so bad, they are good (Along Came Polly, that one is for K).  We can blame the terrible, predictable formula on the classic screwball comedies of the 1930's and 1940's.  Preston Sturges' The Lady Eve essentially follows the classic romantic comedy plot (meet cute, love, break up, reunite!) but perfects the genre that romantic comedies of today have a lot to live up to in comedy, chemistry and even sex. The Lady Eve may be a romantic comedy, but it is no chick flick.

As with most screwball comedies, the plot of The Lady Eve is convoluted, bizarre, and totally delightful.  Jean (Barbara Stanwyck) is a con artist who, with her father's assistance, fleeces rich men through a lethal cocktail of card games, slight-of-hand, and sex appeal. While returning to the U.S. on a luxurious ocean liner, they meet the perfect victim: Charles "Hopsy" Pike (Henry Fonda) is the heir to a beer fortune (or maybe it is ale), who couldn't be less interested in beer (or ale, for that matter).  His true love is snakes, which he has been studying in the Amazon for the preceding years.  While Jean and her father think they have found the perfect target in the naive, sheltered Hopsy, there is something about him that Jean finds irresistible (and Fonda is adorable and strangely sexy as the paradoxically intelligent but stupid Hopsy), and she falls for him.  Just as Jean is ready to give up her life of crime, her true identity as a con artist is revealed, leading Hopsy to unceremoniously dump her.  Subsequently, Hopsy spends the rest of the film learning about the true meaning of the phrase "a woman scorned."   The action recommences at Hopsy's family estate in Connecticut, where Jean returns as The Lady Eve, vowing revenge against Charles.

Most of the reason I decided to recommend this movie  was to gush over Stanwyck.  Barbara Stanwyck, K says, maybe the greatest screen actor ever.  And I might agree with him.  In this movie she is powerful, vulnerable, sexy, confident, witty, sweet, and scathing.  When she is on screen, it is as though there is nothing else on screen. In The Lady Eve, Barbara Stanwyck is the epitome of thespian bravery - she's not afraid to be a raging bitch, nor is she  afraid to be a lovesick girl; that dichotomy between temptress and innocence is a quality that I find very appealing.  She seems so open and so raw in her emotion that you are completely with Jean in every step that she takes against poor Hopsy.  Take a look at her introductory scene as she scopes out her competition for Hopsy's attention, and I think you will see exactly what I mean.

On this viewing, something different struck me that I didn't notice as much the first time.  It wasn't that the movie was still funny and translates perfectly to modern sensibilities.  Don't get me wrong, The Lady Eve is funny, uproarious even.  It moves so quickly that is almost hard to keep up with.  And it wasn't the script by Preston Sturges that may be one of the most perfect ever written (with a contender for my favorite last lines ever in a movie).  It wasn't the chemistry between Stanwyck and Fonda, which is electric and so integral to a successful romantic comedy.  Nor was it  the hilarious supporting cast, including Charles Coburn, William Demarest and my favorite, Eugene Pallette, as Mr. Pike.  It was how sexy the movie is.  The first seduction scene between them involves Fonda putting on Stanwyck's shoe and it is a lot sexier than many scenes of undressing in movies today.  There is also the scene I embedded at the beginning of this review in which Stanwyck and Fonda are laying down next to each other in a chair and Stanwyck tousles Fonda's hair.  Sounds tame, I know, but look at Fonda's face - that, right there, is sex.  The Lady Eve explores the art of seduction, from words, to clothes, to romantic gestures but shows how a good tousle closes the deal.

Julie